Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1887-04-28
An Unexpected Result,
"MnrV , Mary 90


year little travelling patronage WAS youch-
sated 10 Kings Cross.
The postmaster boarded ut the hotel, and
thu town clerk had room there, and the
farmers dincd there of market days (Which
only came once II week }, hut the arrival of Il
real live guest from the railway station, four
miles away, always created Il huttcr.
Kings Cross was drrary little hamlet,
scattered, in AN inconsequcnt fashion, along
the ragged Maryland coast, with "A round
lighthouse, whose eye of revolving flame
glared wickcdly ont 10 sea nj stormy
nights there was "A bathing beach, more
or less washed away 10y the capricious tides,
and an irregular street of old stone houses
and wooded cottages.
There WAS post office, Il village store,
and All ancient stone church, whose grave
yard, on II steep Sidc-hiil, seemed 10 be slip
ping down the bank, in succession of rude
terraces, until its downward course was
promptly arrested 10y hedge of gnarlcd and
hoary yew at the foot.
And this WAS Kings Cross-one OF the
coast
MARY | say, Mary, where are you 80
Once more Mrs. Iorkc's voice sent its
cracked burden down the paved hall, and
tall pretty girl came hurricdly mp through
the tall purple spikes of the lilac-treeS in
| the back garden.
"Wcrr you calling me, Mrs lorke
oh, ann very sorry, but"
calling you - Mrs Yorke put her
hand plainiivcly To her throat, and rolled
her eyes mp toward the ceiling, lay way of
evincing great mental and physical pr"Stra-
tiun. Calling you And where may l
venture Ia ask. have you been ?''
Mary Folyott was pale, violct-eyed girl,
with hair of the real Scotch gold a delicate
profile, and sensitive red lips.
II have been 10 the graveyard" She
murmured, with some wild roses and
white lilies. oh, Mrs. Yorke, pardon me
| ran both ways but il was Decoration
Day, and did not want his grave 10 be
dcsoatc and neglected, while. every one
clscs WAS loaded with flowers"
Mary Folyutt, I'm surprised at you =
said Mrs Horke. Hes dead and buried,
and, by all accounts, though | never saw
the young man, You couldn't treat him de-
Gently while he was living. | don't think
it signifies much about flowers now that
he's gone. And you're here, | beg yon 10
remember 10 work for me, and not 10 carry
flowers io other follScS' graves 80
Mary Foyott hung her head bu; She WAS
we'll accustomed to eat the bitter bread of
dependence.
How brief while ago it WAS that She
wls the pctt,d darling of fortune Now,
orphaned, pennilc,s and alone, she WAS
drudzc-in-chicf 10 Mrs. Norkc, of Kings
Cross Hotel her fathers second cousin.
Come. make haste - said Mrs. Norke,
| There's "A gentleman came in the nine o.
| clock stage. He's in Number Nineteen,
and he wants his breakfast. and old Cassy's
got the toothachc, and won't lift a finger.
Stir up some mullins and fry some eggs
there's dear, and III bc broiling chicken
and getting the coffee ready"
Mechanically Mary ohcycd. 1t was rath-
or Il monotonouS life for girl of eighteen ::
hut after all Mrs. Norkc was fairly kind in
her way when there was no especial hurry,
and when Classy. the cook did not aggravate
her, or Mr. Yorlc give way 10 his particular
failing of too much Bourbon whiskcy.
Mary stood in the cool shadows of the
vine leaves that vcilcd the millk-room Win
dow, listening To the rush of the surf on the
l 4. s,, 4
ont of the old button-hall trees and stirred
the English mullins with busy fingers, while
her thoughts went Sorrowfully back To the
grave under the shadow of the yew hedge,
where she had left the white lilies and the
crushed heap of fragrant roses.
Not even sunbeam - she had said, re-
bcliouSly, as She pushed back the gray
green ycw. breaking off the branches and
bending back the spurs in a sort of hot an
ger "Hc shall have sunshine on his grave
to-day at least"
And as Mary worked, the slow tears
tricklcd one by one down her cheek.
She had loved Hugh Derby very dearly,
but she had coqucttiSh element through
her naturc-lkc most women, unfortunate
ly-and he had gone away to the far South,
believing that she did not care for him.
And then had come the dreadful railroad
accident. and they had brought back his
body to bc buried nj Kings Cross, because
the railroad corporation owned a lot in the
old churchvard, and it was the most con-
ycnicnt place for the intcrment of the poor
victims of the miShap.
There they lay, side 10y side, their graves
marked only by rude stone crosses, inScrib-
ed simply by the name and death date of
each sleeper.
And Mary felt that her heart was broken
and lfclcss within her forever.
Nonsense :" Mrs Yorke had said "lt
| won't last-nothing lasts. Why, | had just
such experience when was gal. There
| was Abe AlcXon, as drove a tin-pcddler's
wagon. the lillclicSt fellow You ever set
eyes on. Me and him was as good as en-
gagged, but we had spat and parted, and
| the very next week he fell over Kings
Cross Cliff of a dark night and was killed.
Bless YOU, felt rs If the whole world had
come to an end but here | hc now married
Il
to Hiram Yorke, and as happy as most
folks. Hiram amt perfection, to be sure,
but Abe was pretty partial To old rye too, or
| he'd never have drove his old horse over
| Kings Cross Cliff instead q round it,
And reckon things al'ays happen for the
hest take one wear with another" content
cdly added the stout matron, us she stirred
a saucepanful of onions with n ponderous
tin spoon, while Mary Folyott WINGED at
the unpalatable parallel.
| What was there in common between hand
some Hugh Derby and the luckless hero
who, once on a time, peddlcd tin and drank
| too much?
The mullins were baked, the eggs fried to
the exact shade of golden brown, and the
breakfast for ''the gentleman i'll Number
Nineteen" safely. off her mind, when Mary